Perfect Son
by Shades
Summary: Lucius muses about his perfect son, thinking about his dragon’s perfect life. Lucius' P.O.V. First in 'Perfect' series, can be read as a standalone. DH slash, no incest


Summary: Lucius muses about his perfect son, thinking about his dragon's perfect life. He then is told about Draco's relationship with Harry Potter at the end of their fifth year and he muses some more. They continue to converse until Hogwarts ends.  
  
Disclaimers: Do I need to tell you that I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters? I do? Well, it belongs to J.K. Rowling, a wonderful author.  
  
Warnings: There will be slight angst, language, and some sexual references. But it won't go into NC-17. Will be first in 'Perfect' trilogy but can be read as a stand-alone. Will have SLASH so don't flame cuz of that. Enjoy!  
  
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Perfect Son  
  
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I always wanted a perfect son.  
  
I was raised by a man, who I couldn't acknowledge as a father but as someone who brought me into existence. Daemon Malfoy was a ruthless man who adored only one thing in life and that was the Dark Arts. He taught me at a young age and was sorely disappointed when I failed. He crushed me and told me I would never amount to anything in my life, that I would never be what he was. Perfect.  
  
He died two years after I left Hogwarts. But he didn't die a perfect death. He was run over by a Muggle car. If he was so perfect then, why couldn't he have rush out of the way or looked both ways? I'll tell you why. He was drunk and snogging with a woman prostitute, who also died, while jaywalking across the street to the wizarding pub. He was anything but perfect.  
  
I was furious to find out that by his teachings, I too had become imperfect. And my mother, or the woman who bore me, was worse than perfect. I simply could not allow this imperfection to continue in my family.  
  
I vowed that I would clean the Malfoy line, vowed that it would become what all my ancestors said it was but wasn't. The Malfoys would be perfect.  
  
I struggled to clean myself of all the imperfection my father passed onto me. I managed to clean most but I was frustrated to find that I would never be what I wished for.  
  
If I could not be it, then my heir, my son, would have to be.  
  
The Malfoy line would be perfect, one way or another. If it couldn't begin with me, it would begin with my perfect son. My perfect son would be intelligent, cunning, handsome...perfection at its fullest.  
  
You can imagine my sheer joy when Draco was born. He was healthy and beautiful. He was born at the best of hospitals, the best money and status could afford. He wasn't born too early or too late but exactly when he was expected. He already knew his way of life.  
  
If I close my eyes and think back enough, I can still feel his small - but not too small - form in my arms. He didn't cry but rather observed with those piercing baby blue eyes everything around him. He saw his mother, Narcissa, all exhausted from childbirth but still the picture of dignity. He saw the doctors, all soaked with the blood from his birth. And he saw me.  
  
Those eyes watched and studied me for what could have been a minute but to me it was a lifetime. His eyes locked onto my own silver-gray eyes, eyes that would soon be his own after the blueness left his own.  
  
I was desperate, desperate for him to make the right move, the perfect move. I wanted my first born to be the perfect one because the second or third wouldn't do. Perfection had to be on the first try.  
  
And my little dragon didn't fail me. His face scrunched up and he let out a wail, letting everyone know that he had fit lungs and that everyone should heed him or there would be hell to pay.  
  
I smiled.  
  
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His beginning was perfect. He did his lessons perfectly and on time. He studied perfectly and accomplished all the tasks he wanted to do. If he wanted something, he would find a way to get it. He didn't allow emotions or feelings to get in the way of his goal, his perfection.  
  
Narcissa, who I married because she was as close to perfect as I, knew what I expected of our Draco. She knew I expected him to have perfect manners, proper raising. When I couldn't be there to watch Draco get to the goal, she watched him. She made sure he knew the perfect way to speak, to eat, to learn. She made sure he didn't get above himself or become spoiled. If she saw that he was about to throw a tantrum or some other way of imperfection, she was there immediately and remedied that.  
  
She would not fail my expectations.  
  
I was there for his first perfect step, his first perfect broom ride, his first perfect everything. I believed that my perfect son would not shame or fail me.  
  
Narcissa didn't want him to go to Durmstrang, for fear of him being too far. If Draco strayed too far, she argued, how would we be there to correct any imperfections should they arise? If Draco went too far, and if any imperfections should come to be, would we be able to get there in time to correct them? I couldn't argue.  
  
So my perfect young - not too little, not too big - Draco went to Hogwarts. I would never admit this to anyone but Hogwarts was arguably the best European school so it should be that the perfect son should go to the perfect school.  
  
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I was in shock.  
  
My perfect son was not the top of his class but rather the SECOND. What was more, he was beaten by a girl of Muggle-born heritage. And his House, Slytherin, lost by ten points.  
  
Draco was a pureblood, perfect. He should have gotten the top marks of all his classes, perfect on every score. He should be in the perfect house. I had raised him perfectly but he was not perfect.  
  
I couldn't accept it. There had to be a mistake. It should not have been this way.  
  
I was still numb when I took him to buy his school supplies and a broom - after all, he was going to be on his House's Quidditch team. He had to be on it, on the first year available to him, the first time to be perfect.  
  
I was in Borgin and Burkes, selling some items that would cause my reputation to become less perfect than it already was, when Draco started on his Harry Potter rant. I immediately began to reprimand him; his perfect reputation could not be shattered if he should ill favor towards the savior of the wizarding world. That was, until my mind caught on some of the things he had began to rant about.  
  
Harry Potter had joined the House team on his FIRST year? But...that was impossible. I instantly began to recall some other things in the rant, and I was reminded that Dumbledore - a man beyond perfect - had allowed this. My eyes narrowed.  
  
My perfect son should have been allowed this. I was slightly shamed to know that my son had not only been beaten in studies but in firsts as well. There had to be another mistake. Draco was always perfect first. He was perfect.  
  
It had to be Dumbledore's fault.  
  
By the time I had finished with Mr. Borgin, a plan had already formed to get rid of this imperfect fool who made my perfect son seem less than he was.  
  
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Perhaps it was I who made Draco imperfect.  
  
My plan had been flawed, imperfect and my cost was the loss of my job as school governor. He had also failed to win one match in Quidditch. Against Harry Potter. And he had been on a better broom. Maybe by touching the broomstick, I had cursed it.  
  
Either way, I had failed my son, my perfect prodigy.  
  
Sirius Black, the lunatic, the innocent, had escaped from Azkaban. Oh, everyone thought he guilty...except those few who held an imperfection on their flesh by choice. Those people had seen the true traitor, occasionally worked with him. Peter Pettigrew.  
  
How did I know this? Because I had allowed the imperfection to be branded into me. I knew it was imperfect, yet I still allowed it. Look where it got me.  
  
It didn't matter, he was after the Potter boy. Maybe Potter was flawing my son, my perfection?  
  
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My perfect son, my perfection in flesh, was beaten again this year. Potter was on a better broom, so perhaps that mattered? No...my son was perfect. He still should have won. But he didn't. He lost once more to Harry Potter. It didn't matter that he won all other games, he still lost one. I don't understand.  
  
And besides that invisible flaw, he gained a physical one as well. A mad hippogriff - who managed to escape death - laid a mark on my perfect son's skin. A scar that will last.  
  
My perfect son is becoming imperfect. This has to stop.  
  
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My imperfection has come back to haunt me. In the form of Lord Voldemort.  
  
Harry Potter, the boy who made my son imperfect, managed to escape my Master's curse. It's another impossibility...yet that boy still manages to do it. I don't understand it. Could he be the perfect son?  
  
No, Draco is my perfect son, the only one. But his perfection has suffered this year. Not only did he suffer humiliation - can perfection suffer humiliation? - at the hands of the imposter Moody, his relationship, romantically, suffered as well. He took an imperfection to the Yule Ball.  
  
Pansy Parkinson is not perfect. She is not meant for the Malfoy line. It is already imperfect, and Draco is the only perfection we have left. She cannot be allowed to taint it further. She must be dealt with appropriately. I will not allow Draco to become imperfect.  
  
....But who is perfect enough for Draco?  
  
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"I'm fucking Harry Potter."  
  
Is this imperfect? Two boys together in such a manner...it has to be, hasn't it? Perfection is normalcy...not something bizarre, strange...unique.  
  
And is "fucking" proper? Is it allowed to be said by perfection?  
  
"Don't worry about anything coming out of it though, Father." Ah, there's the proper perfect language.  
  
"Its just another game, another challenge. It's something to beat Potter with. And so far, it seems like I'm beating him pretty well, in more ways than one. He won't know what hit him. Potter is finally going to lose."  
  
Perhaps my son doesn't have any flaws, really.  
  
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"Have I told you how perfect Potter looks when we're fucking?"  
  
....Perfect?  
  
"No, you haven't. Perhaps you should tell me it all."  
  
"He's panting and moaning and sweating like a bitch in heat. He keeps moaning my name when I thrust into him or when I bite and lick him. Not my last name, but my first. Draco, Draco..."  
  
Should I be hearing this from my perfect son? Shouldn't he still have his purity, to be perfect?  
  
"He's always facing me when we fuck. I never see his back when I enter him. His eyes - they're a beautiful green, have I told you? - are always looking into mine when I take him. And I always take him. I take him against the wall, on the floor, standing up, anywhere we can. And he loves it."  
  
Why shouldn't he? He's being given something that no one else has. He's being given - and taking - perfection.  
  
"He either wraps his legs - long, slender legs, like my own but darker in color - around my waist or puts them on my shoulder. And I take him. Sometimes I use lubrication, when I'm not too hot. When I do, I'm always rough because the wait was killing me. I leave bruises on him when I'm rough."  
  
Doesn't anyone notice? Does the boy mar my perfect son's skin as well?  
  
"Sometimes I'm gentle with him. That's when I don't use lubrication. It hurts him but he still loves it. I...I sometimes kiss him when I'm gentle. Or lay my head on his shoulder afterwards. His skin is soft, did you know? Very gentle and warm. I like lying there, when we have time."  
  
Oh no...  
  
Chuckles. "Isn't it funny, Father? That he has a dark complexion but he is on the Light side. And I have a pale complexion but am on the Dark side." More chuckles.  
  
...What was that?  
  
Dark side? No, my perfect dragon...you will NOT be marred by either side. I will not permit it.  
  
Laughter now. "Did you know that he told me he loved me?"  
  
I blink.  
  
"Oh yes, right before school ended. He said he loved me. I laughed at him. I don't think he liked that much. Pity. I don't want his...performance...or this to end because he's sentimental."  
  
"You don't want this to end?"  
  
Perfection blinks.  
  
"I would have thought you would have ended it when he told you he loved you. I'm presuming that that's the win and all you have to do is leave him now. How long is this game going to last, Draco?"  
  
"...Good night, Father."  
  
"Good night Draco. And don't do something you'll regret."  
  
As the door closes, I have a sense of foreboding that he already has.  
  
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"I think I have made a mistake, Father."  
  
My perfection made a mistake? He's admitting to being imperfect?  
  
"How so?"  
  
"I think I've fallen in love."  
  
My silence all but screams.  
  
"I'm sorry. I know what I have to do."  
  
"...What's that, Draco?"  
  
A shuddering breath before he continues. "I have to kill him."  
  
More silence from me. I'm looking into the flames in the hearth while he shuffles uneasily behind me. We're in my study and he has just returned from his final year. And his perfection has been shattered. By an emotion.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"I don't know, sir." I inwardly wince. "I was laying in his arms, and he told me he loved me again. I lifted my head from his shoulder - did I tell you that's my favorite place to be? - and looked into his eyes. And I think that's when it happened. I didn't laugh, like I usually do. I just smiled and kissed him."  
  
I'm still looking into the flames. After a few minutes of silent contemplation, I turn to my perfect son.  
  
He's no longer a boy, no longer innocent. He has grown up. His hair, a beautiful silver like his mother, is no longer gelled back like he used to do when he was younger. It now falls into his eyes, long and silky soft. It frames his silver-gray eyes perfectly, which are beautiful and soft, yet still in control. His face is no longer pointed but perfected by age. My pointed face and his mother roundness have cancelled out to create perfection.  
  
His body is not muscled or fat. It isn't skinny or frail. The Quidditch training has made him slim and strong. It's perfect.  
  
His physical appearance is perfect. And his words and manners are still perfect. I should know, he was the perfect gentleman when we greeted at the train station.  
  
He is perfect. This emotion doesn't do anything, does it? I look into his eyes.  
  
They're still observing and calculating. They have knowledge and wisdom. They're determined and stubborn. He won't back down from his imperfection.  
  
Perhaps...will it make him stronger? Will he love the Potter boy so much, that he will accomplish a great many feats to make sure he is safe? Will it make him perfect?  
  
Is Potter perfect enough? He is, there's no doubt about that. He has beaten my perfect son many times, there's no doubt he's perfect. He is strong. And I know secretly, that Voldemort will not stand a chance.  
  
...I have no choice...  
  
I reach into my right hand drawer and pull out a small black box. After fingering it for a moment, I hand it to my perfect son.  
  
Draco takes it uncertainly.  
  
I merely look upon him. "You've made your choice and I can't change your mind about it. I know you're perfect, Draco. Being perfect means sticking with your decisions and carrying them through. You give up on this, Draco, and you will regret it. I will make sure of that."  
  
"Father?"  
  
"Keep it Draco. Keep this happiness..this love. Don't throw it away for anything. Stay true to it. You make a mistake, and you know it, apologize. Do whatever it takes to keep it together."  
  
Draco is confused. He glances down at the box and slowly opens it. He blinks.  
  
I know what he's looking it. I bought it so he could give it to his perfect match. Which he will do. It's emerald, silver, amber, onyx, sapphire, bronze, rubies, and gold. Quite expensive.  
  
Draco looks up slowly, disbelief showing on his face.  
  
"Don't lose it." He knows I'm not talking about the ring.  
  
Draco swallows. "Thank you. I love you, Father."  
  
I smile and kiss him on his forehead.  
  
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Voldemort has called me for a meeting of just the two of us. I am his second-in-command.  
  
We were talking about the Ministry when Voldemort abruptly asks, "How is your son, Lucius?"  
  
I look into the flames.  
  
I whisper quietly, "He is perfect."  
  
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AN: I know my reviewers are going to kill me for not updating Opacre but I'm stuck on writer's block. Wait a while, I'll get there. 


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